


Free

by GalacticTwink (orphan_account)



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Drowning, Heavy Angst, Nonbinary Jeremy Heere, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Indulgent, Suicide, The Author Regrets Everything, author hates himself, sorry - Freeform, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 17:19:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14675814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/GalacticTwink
Summary: Jeremy wants to be free of it all





	Free

**Author's Note:**

> Big vent fic  
> So give me a break on it being short, the worst, and unedited

    Deep breath. Then another. Everything is okay. Everything is okay. One foot in front of the other, don’t stop walking, don’t stop going forward. Across the asphalt and straight through the tree line where their footsteps don’t make noise and branches cut shallow grooves into their skin as they push through; gooseflesh raising on their skin and hair standing on end. It’s cold, fog cloaking the ground and erasing the path beneath their feet, or lack thereof. Their arms and legs are sparsely covered by thin fabric not reaching the ends of their limbs, allowing the cold ro bite at their skin and crawl into their chest. The branches end and the trees thin and drop away, their bare feet sinking into cool sand and making them trip; bloody palms digging into the small grains and stinging still fresh gashes there. They get up and keep going, smearing warmth across their legs and shorts as they go to wipe away the sand. Water laps at their ankles, the sand damp and gritty on their skin as they fall to their knees; fingers grasping around the metal jabbing into their thigh from within their pocket. One, two, three. Warmth spills over their wrist, wrapping around and dripping down into the water around their knees. That’s enough. Four, five six, they don’t stop; numb to the pain they should be feeling and washing over it with how hot it is.Like it’s been boiling under their skin and just needs to get out and spill out on the ground. The water is cold, numbing their senses but leaving the torrent of emotion still swirling inside them, tearing up their insides as their outside melts away. The freezing release of numbness crawls up their legs and along their fingertips, leaving blue at the tips. When had they left home? How far are they now? No need to fret about it now, they won't be heading back. Another step forward, then one more; shallow waves lapping at their hips and weighing down the fabric of their shirt and pulling at the hem. The stained article sags, tugging down past their breasts and leaving the gouged skin there cold and exposed. Their next step is a drop, footing lost in the dip between the shallows and sandbar; head ducking below the water and spreading ginger at the surface beside their pools of crimson. Their damaged, tired arms push up desperately though they'd rather be still; instruct to survive breaking their head from the surface and filling their lungs with air. The water has no salt but still stings their eyes as they go under a second time, waves rolling over their head and disorienting their position. Which is up and which is down? It makes no difference to them, lungs burning and crying for another inhale; forcing their mouth open to gulp down the water around them. The current pulls at them, waves receding and dragging him along on their return trip to their origin; arms too sluggish to escape the undertow. Bubbles escape their lips, vision swirling the murk around them with their own blood; oozing slowly beneath the waves. They are aware of their own arms,outstretched and still as the waves push them along. Black creeps around the edge of their vision, the pain they once felt receding into the recesses of their brain. They're so light, drifting along like a paper aeroplane in the wind, free from the emotions that held them down. The great weight has lifted from their chest, left on the shore or perhaps back at home with their last words; shakily scrawled on the back of the first page they'd found. Unimportant, just as the words themselves were. Just as they are. Black closes in on their field of sight. They push the last of whatever they have in their lungs out, shoulders falling slack and hands hanging limply near their head. They are free.


End file.
